Saturday, February 2, 2008

As I started to write, I realized the thing about Girl Scouts is going to be a really long story, and it is going to take me a long time to write, and I am probably going to get mad, and cry, and stop writing a lot. I will just keep posting stuff and then post the stuff about my Mom when I am ready. This is a good step for me.

In the past, I would just stop writing other stuff until I finished the one story. It is a very high level of procrastination that I mastered at an early age. The art of avoiding much by being “busy” doing the impossible. The thing about me and my Mom and Girl Scouts isn’t just about Girl Scouts; it’s about me and my Mom. It’s about my Mom, and who I understood her to be, and who I still struggle with accepting her not to be. I honestly do not know how the story will end, or what I will tell.

When I write this blog, lots of times I hold back. I backspace a lot, I omit a lot, I hold out on you, my dear internet. I am a stingy bitch with my internal monologue. As I am sure I have mentioned; I never kept a journal of any kind until I started this blog. I never had any privacy. I never trusted I could just write or say my “stuff” without retribution. Even though I have lived alone for a long time, I always felt on the verge of invasion. I felt like there was no place safe for me to keep my thoughts except between my ears because no one can steal it from there. So, that is why I like the internet. I like being invisible. I have never told anyone in my “real” life I write online. They all know I write, and that I am a good writer, they just do not know about this. Actually, it is funny because I actually think in a lot of ways this blog is good writing only in that I am kind of talking to myself, and working ideas out for myself. 99.9% of the time, I think the actual writing sucks. I am shocked that I hit send on this stuff, that I have let go to that extent. It is shameful how much time and money I spent on my own education to get online and whine about my crappy ass family in grade school parlance. Then again, it is helping me not brain anybody with a meat cleaver in real life, so it is worth something.

When it comes to my Mom, I am going to pound it all out, and then edit it, and rearrange it ninety billion times because it is important to me to tell the story well, or at least coherently. My Mom fucked up a lot and I think that is mostly because she had no other frame of reference and because she was saddled by societal expectations that limited her options. My Mom felt trapped. My Mom was sixty-eight when she died. The world for women in America changed a lot in her lifetime. I think my Mom would have made different choices if she had them to make. I mostly think this because of things she told me and taught me. It is a safe bet I will be at least sixty-eight before I finish the story. In the meantime, no matter who you are, or what kind of parent you are, or had, talk to your kids, talk to your parents, ask questions. Like me, you often times may not like what you hear, but maybe it can help you understand better. When you know better, you can do better.